


My Face

by Lepidopteran (inarticulate)



Category: Cain Saga and Godchild
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-25
Updated: 2009-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inarticulate/pseuds/Lepidopteran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassian tries to adjust to his new situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Face

It's not the cleanest room, but it'll do for Cassian's purposes. He locks the door and tosses his coat to the side before grabbing the dirty mirror and looking at himself. He is ugly, that is his first thought; Cassandra was a man not noted for his physical attributes. But when Cassian looks at himself, he doesn't think Cassandra. The lack of hair and the absence of a proud sneer make him seem like a different person, though he certainly doesn't look like _Cassian_.

Given enough time, though, perhaps he will.

Cassian traces a hand down the slopes of his face and watches the man in the mirror do the same. After a long moment, he tosses the mirror aside and sits down on the bed, staring between his legs. This is something he had always wanted; he is free from his childish organs, pink and hairless in his hands as he beat off and hated himself for it. Now he has a man's cock, like he imagined so many times before.

It's not that he wanted someone else's cock. He's not a sodomite; he always thought of women, when he thought of anyone else. He wanted his own, and now he has it. The thought sickens him a bit; he's still caught up in the fact that it's Cassandra's body, that Cassandra has used it to do horrible things. They all knew of Cassandra's "girls," they all knew what he did to them, and Cassian knew better than most. Nobody cares what an eternal boy sees or hears.

He almost gives up. This task can always be done later. But he remembers Jizabel, remembers that fierce, determined look. Cassian is resolved not to waste this gift, not when it means that Jizabel is left all alone in that atmosphere so poisonous to his soul.

He undoes his trousers clumsily-- he's still not used to the size of his fingers-- and strips them off. The underwear he leaves on; he's not ready to look at all of this yet, so he just pulls his cock out of them and strokes, once, the entire length.

It's big, he thinks, and that's hardly surprising. It's probably pretty average for a normal man. But it makes Cassian's heart race just a bit, and he strokes again this time for the sensation, for the pleasure of it. Yes. He wants this.

He spits into the palm of his hand and strokes, firmer, as it hardens. It feels better, freer. He's not a child any longer, and this is how a man feels. He tries to a woman there, but the vision of her is wavery and drowns in the purely physical sensation. This is his cock. This is his moment. This is his body.

He chokes back a sound as Jizabel rises unbidden to his mind again, fully clothed. His chest feels tight; the sensation isn't pleasant, but he comes anyway, spilling more than he ever has before. He sits there for a moment, the afterglow lost in sudden unwilling thought. He wonders if Cassandra's body has made him into a sodomite after all. He wonders why the thought doesn't bother him as much as it should.

Maybe it's that he's always been an outsider anyway. Or maybe it's just that if this is the cost, it's a price he's willing to pay. He tucks himself back into his underwear, wiping his hand on the sheets, and moves to pull his trousers back on. He'll save thinking about this for later; when he stands up and looks at himself once more in the cast-off mirror, he feels a little more like himself, and that's all that matters.


End file.
